I Don't Do Formal
by dancingonmytoes13
Summary: I don't do formal. Never have, never will. Yet there I was in some sparkling dress with make-up and fixed-up hair...and hating every minute of it.  ONE-SHOT.


**I HAVE MISSED WRITING SOMETHING FUN SOOOOO MUUUCCCH!**

**I'm baaaack.**

**Well, just for this One-shot over Holiday break. But still.**

**Did you miss me?**

…

…**.**

**Ah, who cares. I love writing so much.**

**I hope you enjoy this little scene as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**In this one-shot the Flock is winged, but its set around the third and fourth book, approximately (which means no established Fax…hehe).**

**Please disregard the fact that Ella and Total are mysteriously missing.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, or any of the characters.**

* * *

><p><span>MAX's POV<span>

My mistake was not running like hell when I saw Gazzy, Angel, and Nudge dragging a struggling Fang through the living room and into the hallway.

Run to help Fang, you ask?

No, running _away_. Far away. Like, maybe Japan or something.

_But Max, I thought you were all cuckoo for cocoa-puffs over Fang?_

…are you kidding me? The concept of Sir Dark and Gloom and I is ridiculous. What a hilarious statement! I mean, Fang is like a brother to me. That annoying, occasionally stupid brother who makes you grey prematurely but can also be supportive of you and a good friend and…

Ah, erm, uhh…

You know what? This is not a matter to be discussed.

I'm sure you're all as confused as a cat given a dog for Christmas, so I'll resume the opening scene of Gazzy, Angel, and Nudge pulling a _Peter and the Wolf_ on Fang.

For all you gasping in amazement and the littlun's strength, Fang is not all the heavy. I'm about 90, 95 pounds tops, and Fang is maybe ten or fifteen pounds heavier than me.

It's the whole avian-mutant bird-bone thing about us, the lack of weight that really kills the phrase "I trust you as far as I can throw you," because we can be thrown pretty far.

Getting off the bunny trail for the third time…

Fang. Being dragged by the young'uns. Protesting greatly.

After they disappeared down the hallway, I slouched deep into the soft beige couch and groaned loudly.

_Why me…_

I simply did not have the will-power to leave the couch and end whatever chaos was going down in the house.

After a day full of chasing after all the Flock and dealing disgruntledly with their hyperactive shenanigans - combined with my two hours of sleep due to my never-ending paranoia – this was just the _cherry_ on top of my day – more craziness and haphazard tom-foolery that would probably send me to the medicine cabinet for two more Advil.

And Iggy said he was going to the bathroom half an hour ago but hasn't returned, so either he is taking the world's longest crapper or he's up to something also.

_Yaaay_!

That was sarcasm.

We came to visit my mom, Dr. Martinez, three days ago, for a little R&R down time.

My thoughts swam with "_Yes! Max is going to hibernate all break, smell really clean, and not be stressed at all!"_

Ha ha, _wrong_.

My paranoia has been like a squirrel on crack: fast-acting, constant, hyperactive, and extremely amusing to anyone watching. I cannot get my body and mind to calm the Fnick down (Fang's cover name has become a Flock favorite profanity substitute lately) because everything is too quiet at night.

Too peaceful.

I'm just waiting for the ship full of Erasers and mad scientists to barge through my window and sail me away to Laboratory Land in a nice, small cage.

So, yeah – the whole sleep thing has not been working. But the Flock seems to find my bruise-looking shadowy bags under my eyes and crack-addict nervous shakes extremely amusing at the breakfast table.

Glad to know I'm entertaining them.

Given the fact that the whole Flock has been seemingly going out of their way to be troublesome also, you can surely understand my complete and utter reluctance to deal with _whatever_ Fang got himself into.

I closed my eyes on the couch and tried to forget about everything.

….

….

…

Yeah, that lasted about a minute before curiosity killed the cat and latched onto Max the Bird-Kid.

Sighing, I heaved my behind off the lovely sofa and trudged down the hallway to the source of the sound.

"Let me go!" Fang's deep voice hissed out from his room, sounding an unusual amount of furious.

"Never!" Angel proclaimed, sounding pretty demonic.

I arrive at the closed door at about the time when the brisk sound of duct tape snapping filled the air.

I know; I am so poetic, aren't I?

Yanking the door open with as much pizazz and bad-assity as a sleep-deprived person can (Bad-assity? Man, I don't even give a Fnick. Whatever.), I found myself gazing upon a quite unusual scene.

Fang was being held to his bed by Gazzy and Angel, with duct tape over his mouth, while Nudge was taking Fang's shirt off.

All four froze in spot, flabbergasted at my sudden appearance. The young mafia had looks of _uh-oh_ upon their round faces, while Fang had a _Please-save-me-I-am-about-to-have-my-soul-sucked-from-me-like-a-Dementor_ expression plastered onto his olive complexion.

Well, approximately. It's hard to read Fang accurately.

Seconds passed, and then Fang began to yell a desperate "Mmphfpfpfmhh!" at me while struggling against his relentless captors.

I slowly dragged a hand down my face and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You know what? I don't even want to know. Just don't kill each other today, okay?" I said, and I walked to the medicine cabinet for some migraine-killers.

* * *

><p>Three Advil and a short self-pity session with a chocolate bar, I walked to Iggy's room to see if he was hiding in there.<p>

_Knock knock knock._

"Iggy? Are you in there?"

I listened closely, and a muted, muffled voice came through the wooden door. I waited two seconds before slowly opening the door.

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

"Dear Lord, Iggy, what _died_ in here?"

"Mmphffphmfph!"

The second thing to hit me was utter shock as my eyes found Iggy.

He was duct-taped to his bed, with his feet tied together and strapped down and his hands tied to the bedposts. His mouth was sealed with a band of the same silvery-hued adhesive. His strawberry-blonde hair was brushed (for once) and tamed back with some sort of gel, and his hands (also for once) were not bespeckled with dirt and grime.

Iggy was also wearing a black, sleek tuxedo.

"What the Fnick are you wearing?"

"Mphfmfmffm!"

Oh. Right. Duct tape on mouth.

I marched over to him and roughly yanked off the tape, receiving a distressed "Yowl!" from Iggy in the process.

"Quit being a baby," I chided, still bamboozled by Iggy's startling sophisticated and clean appearance. "Why are you duct-taped to the bed? Why are you wearing a suit? How did you even _get _a suit? You didn't steal it, did you -"

"Max, shut up!" Iggy yelled, looking desperate. "I was kidnapped by the evil trio out there, and I was forced into hygiene and fancy, itchy clothing! Apparently there is some kind of dinner tonight, and Max, you need to get the hell out of here before –"

"Hello, Max."

I tensed quickly at the eerily calm tone of Nudge's voice.

"Too late," Iggy breathed out, looking sorry for me.

"We want to play a game with you," Gazzy said in the same creepy tone.

I turned around slowly.

The third thing that hit me was an elephant of doom stomping right on my head.

Three faux-cherub children stood in Iggy's doorway, smiling innocently.

…holding ropes, duct-tape, and a suspicious black bag behind their backs.

"Uh," I reputed oh-so smartly, "I don't wanna play any games. Sorry."

"Too bad," Angel said, cocking her head in a manner that sent chills up my spine in the _very bad_ way.

I took one step toward the door, ready to leave –

I never stood a chance once they all pounced on me.

I met the floor, struggled like hell, yelled a few Fnick profanities, and then a voice (that was not my own or the Voice) came in my head and told me to go to sleep.

I passed into unconsciousness in seconds.

* * *

><p>I woke up in a small room with bright lights, a mirror, and a…toilet?<p>

Oh. This is our bathroom.

Why the heck am I in here?

Feeling groggy with sleep, my mind was working at snail capacity as I tried to decipher my sudden appearance in the restroom.

Suddenly, I felt my hair being tugged, and a strong heat permeated near my left ear.

"Ah!" I yelled, unsure what the Fnick was going on right now, and I yanked my head away from the mysterious heat-bringer.

"Max! Sit still, or you'll ruin the curl," Nudge scolded, pulling my head back and grabbing my hair again with some stick contraption.

"What are you doing? Why am I in the bathroom? Did you actually _kidnap_ me?" I demanded in my best no-silly-business voice.

"She's curling your hair. The stick contraption you are wondering about is called a _curling iron_, Max," Angel reprimanded, shaking her head in a disappointment that I couldn't quite determine was genuine or mocking. "And I'm going your make-up."

_Whaaaa?_

"Tell me what the heck is going on, _right now, _before I round-house kick you to the Moon!"

Nudge sighed dramatically. "Max, you are over-reacting. We're just fixing you up all formally for some benefit dinner Dr. M wants to take us to – for animal shelters, or some rescue mission thing or another. I know how much you like the little animals, Max."

Cue eye roll…because I _do_ like the little animals.

Don't tell Fang or Iggy that, though. It kind of ruins the I-can-kick-your-butt-anywhere-and-anytime image.

"Anyway, we all knew you, Iggy, and Fang would be very much against dressing up in any sort of way, and you _are_ beauty-incompetent, Max, when it comes to hair and make-up and cute outfits, and Dr. M knows I love that stuff, so she paid Angel, Gazzy, and me ten bucks each to wrangle all of you into formal wear and make you look all not scruffy and stuff, so we said yes, and so we kidnapped you while you were talking to Iggy, and now we are fixing you up, and you look so good Max; I just wish you'd do this on your own every day and then we wouldn't have to mind-manipulate you into submission like this time and tie you to a chair because it is really annoying to do, but I mean Iggy and Fang are going to be so shocked – well, more Fang than Iggy because Iggy can't see, but I'm sure Fang will tell Iggy and he'll be shocked too and everyone will be amazed by Angel and I's abilities of transformation and –"

"Nudge," I interrupted, trying to cover my ears but suddenly discovering that they are tied together behind my back. "My ears are going to bleed."

"Sorry," Nudge replied, giggling.

I felt another strand of my hair get yanked and rolled in this _curling iron_ thing.

"She's almost done, Max," Angel consoled me. "She just has to pin some pieces back now."

"With a pony-tail holder?" I asked, wondering why they had to do all this just to put it in a ponytail I can do in five seconds.

Angel snorted.

…Guess that's a no, then.

Something jabbed the back of my skull.

"Ow!" I hissed.

"Sorry, almost done," Nudge said.

Crap. Crap.

"All done, Max!" Angel exclaimed, turning my body to face the mirror over the sink.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the horror I surely looked like.

"_Open your eyes before I make you_," Angel scolded in my head.

"_Oh yeah? Try,_" I dared her mentally.

Suddenly, an image of Bambi eyes appeared in my head.

"_No! Must…resist….temptation…_"

Suddenly, the Bambi eyes are everywhere.

"_Leave…me…alone…cute…eyes…"_

"_Only if you comply_," Angel's invisible voice said.

Sighing, I opened my eyes.

And I almost shrieked in horror.

I looked like a _pansy_.

My hair fell in some sort of nice swirls around my head, but it looked too soft and maintained. My eyes were big, surrounded my some sort of black that vaguely reminded me of a raccoon. My cheeks were pink like I just finished running a marathon race against a pack of Erasers, and my lips were covered in dark red goo that made me think of a prettier version of blood left over from a nose bleed.

Isn't that such a nice description?

I looked like all the normal girls that walked around all made up and couldn't defend themselves against an ice cream cone if they tried.

I had the appearance of a wimp that couldn't kick my _own_ butt, nonetheless several Erasers' derrieres.

"What did you _do_ to me?" I breathed out in anger, trying to subdue my internal shame.

"Don't you like it?" Nudge asked excitedly, grinning from ear to ear and mistaking my horror for amazement.

Several choice, non-Fnick profanities surfaced to describe my _adoration_, but I chose not to voice them.

"You look beautiful, Max," Angel said softly, giving me a small grin. "_Not weak,"_ she added in my head.

All I could think was that I looked pathetic and very un-Maxish…and Fang was going to laugh his head off at my appearance and mock me for the rest of eternity.

"Sure, Nudge," I managed, trying my best to put some fake enthusiasm behind it so as not to crush her excitement. "Just untape me, okay?"

Nudge took some scissors and released me from my duct-tape bonds, and I stood up on shaky feet.

I looked down and saw that the reason for my instability was the pointed shoe things on my feet.

"Heels," Angel answered.

I also had some sort of blue-dress thing on that was sparkled, went to my knees, and - _thank God - _had straps.

Nudge and Angel probably could have gone on and on about the details in this scrunch or that hem or whatever, but for me, it was just an itchy cloth of doom slung on my body.

Angel handed me some sort of black, silky, cropped jacket with sleeves.

"To hide the wings," she said, and I donned it wordlessly.

Then, I turned around, tripped, and walked out like a newborn foal to the hallway with as much dignity as possible.

That lasted about five steps before I stumbled again and almost landed flat on my face.

I finally let the grimace settle on my face and stomped down the hall to my room so I could sulk for a few minutes about my lost dignity.

* * *

><p>I was sitting at my window, just staring off into the darkening sky, when a faint <em>knock-knock<em> sounded at my door.

Without a word, I stood up and strode toward the door, opening it.

Angel's face greeted me.

"Time to go," she said.

"K."

"Don't be so sad, Max," Angel comforted. "You still look tough, and Max-ish, and beautiful. Fang's not going to think you look weird; he'll be awed – promise!"

"Just let me get through this night, Angel," I muttered, trying to scrape together a mix of defiance, leadership, anger, and dignity before I was flung into the world. "_I've gone through worse_."

Angel looked concerned. "It's just a dinner, Max – no expects anything of you except being polite, eating, and looking nice."

Great. Beyond the eating part, this is pretty much out of my element.

I marched to the living room to meet everyone.

Nudge, upon seeing me first, grinned and clapped excitedly. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present with pleasure the newly made-over Maximum Ride –"

I walked in view right as I stumbled harshly, hanging on to the couch to prevent my complete and utter collapse, and then I stood up briskly, giving everyone a steady, challenging glare.

Meanwhile, I slowly took in the various new appearances around me. I noticed that Gazzy and Iggy had never looked so clean and sharp, that Nudge actually had non-afro hair, and that Fang didn't look like a pansy in his suit but instead elegant and suave – but I could tell he was just as uncomfortable as I was. Even though his gaze was fixed upon me, his eyes only a fraction wider than normal to barely indicate his total shock, his stance was stiff, and he kept awkwardly scratching the sleeve of his left arm with his right hand – a nervous habit I'd learned to identify over the years.

At least I wasn't the only one feeling out of their element.

After a second of unrestricted staring, Fang snapped his expression into a smirk and gestured to my death-trap "heels".

"Need some training wheels for those shoes?" Fang mocked, and I snarled.

Of course. Of _course_ he wouldn't be magically impressed, like Angel tried to convince me. This was _Fang_, who considered a non-blood-stained shirt fashionable and was not afraid to eat roasted desert rat and enjoy it. He found me completely ridiculous –

And I could not disagree.

"What's with the funeral suit? Did your dignity die?" I shot back.

"No – yours did."

"Only because it looked at your ugly face. What's with the freeze-dried hair? I'm pretty sure that if you were in a windstorm, you would break before your hair would."

"At least my hair looks better than yours."

"Ha – you wish. At least my hairstyle is suitable for my gender."

"Ooooh, burn," Iggy retorted, cackling.

Fang narrowed his eyes.

"At least I can attract the opposite gender," Fang retorted.

"Yeah – the desperate, get-in-your-pants girls," I reputed glaring.

"What makes you more attractive, Ms. Ride – the glob of make-up on your face or the slinky dress you're in?"

"Slinky? Wanna come closer and say that again, man-slut?"

"Man-slut? How in the world am I a man-slut? And I'm not slinky, I'm sexy."

"I've seen a pig's butt sexier than you."

"Must have been one sexy pig."

"Or you just have one ugly butt of a face."

"I think we've established already that my face is quite sexy."

"When?"

"Just now."

"In your dreams."

"In _your_ dreams."

"Oh yeah? Let's take a poll on your _sexiness_. Who all thinks Fang is too hot to resist?"

The room fell awkwardly silent.

"I'd rather not think about that, nor give any answer," Iggy muttered.

"Uh," was Nudge's great response.

"You're an idiot, Max," Fang said, smirking.

"Calling you an idiot would be an insult to all the stupid people."

"Listen, are you always this stupid, or are you just making a special effort today?"

"Is it time for you medication, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Obnoxious?"

"You should have been born in the Dark Ages; you look terrible in the light."

"They just invented a new coffin just for you that goes over the head. It's for people who are dead from the neck up."

"Why don't you slip into something more comfortable…like a coma."

"If I throw a stick, will you leave?"

"But Maxie, you love me THIS MUCH!"

"That was the drugs talking!"

"More like your hormones!"

"Okay, guys, it's time to go!" my mom said, entering the room.

Then, she froze, seeing Fang and I battling it out.

"If ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest person I alive!" I retort.

"Keep talking – maybe someday you'll say something intelligent!" Fang snarled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom lean over to Angel, and I hear her ask, "What are they doing?"

Angel gave a small chuckle. "This is the closest those two will ever get to flirting."

* * *

><p>I don't do formal. Never have, never will. Yet there I was, eating roast duck and spicy broccoli in some sparkly dress with itchy make-up and fixed up hair like some sort of soft aristocrat.<p>

And I was hating every minute of it…beside the food.

Because, come on – food and I have a beautiful, wonderful relationship.

Especially with the mashed potatoes that they gave us. They were to _die_ for. I was practically melting upon the spoon reaching my mouth.

I actually groaned with happiness.

"Guys, these potatoes are freaking phenomenal," I proclaimed through a mouthful of said veggie.

"I think Max is having a food-gasm," Iggy muttered just loud enough that the Flock would hear but not my mom.

Since I was sitting next to him (and not Fang, the retard muffin of the night), I smacked him across the head while the rest of the Flock broke into hysterics.

Beyond the food, however, there was just a bunch of betting on silent auctions, jazzy background music, dancing old people, and a whole lot of uncomfortable Max.

Eventually, my mom stood up and proclaimed to the table that she was going to mingle and dance with some of her colleagues, and then she proceeded to drag all of us onto the dance floor with the claim that this would "be fun".

Since I was definitely _not_ dancing with some random, creepy stranger, I figured I could dance with someone from the Flock.

Well, they are all traitors, because you want to know who I ended up with?

No, not Fang.

A creepy, old stranger.

He asked, "Do wanna dance, pretty thing?"

And while I was standing there, flabbergasted, he took my hand and started turning me in complicated circles that had me tripping every five seconds.

After a minute of this madness, combined with the fact that the old man _would_ _not let go of me_, I was about to punch him in the face and ruin this whole fancy charade.

However, fate – or rather, Fang – had other plans.

"Mind if I cut in?"

I mentally thanked and cursed Fang, all at the same time.

Much to my immediate pleasure, though, the old man relinquished me and handed me over to Fang's waiting hand with a wink in my direction.

Fang then hastily and roughly grabbed my hand and my waist and started swaying.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, wishing he'd leave me alone now that he'd saved me from Creeper Man. "We don't know how to dance. At all."

"Trying to mimic everyone else," Fang replied in an undertone, watching over my shoulder to the mass of swirling, dancing couples.

"You know, we could just _not dance_," I whispered, completely annoyed.

"Nah. This is just too much fun," Fang replied, smirking largely.

My heart thumped unevenly, and I glanced away, irritated with Fang and his ability to make my mood swing like a PMS-y woman.

"Max," Fang said, sounding serious.

"Hm," I hummed off-handedly.

"Max, look at me."

Sighing loudly, I turned my head towards him, cocking an eyebrow in expectation.

Fang bit his lip, but then spat out, "I'm sorry."

My eyebrow arched higher. "The Great Fang apologizing? This is a first."

"Don't ruin it," Fang scolded, but then continued. "I didn't mean to make you mad and insulted earlier. I just saw how uncomfortable you were in this dress –"

Fang made a point to tug at the sparkly fabric.

"-and I thought that if I joked about it, you might lighten up. But that plan backfired big time."

I let that sink in a minute, then replied, "I insulted you just because you were pissing me off."

Fang chuckled, and my heart gave three quick _thumps_.

"But in all seriousness, Max, you look really…"

Fang bit his lip, looked away, then looked back at me with a determined expression on his face.

"You look really pretty tonight."

My eyes widened.

"What? What about all your smart-ass comments about my caked-on face and my _slinky_ dress-"

"Well, frankly, you were pissing _me_ off."

It was my turn to laugh.

"But don't get it in your head that you need all this –"

Fang gestured to me.

"- to impress or be beautiful. I'd rather have a Max with blood-stained jeans, a lion's mane of hair, and a bruised eye, who stands with such inspiring confidence, than some unsteady, glammed up Max any day."

I gazed into Fang's eyes and saw the sincerity behind it, a rare display of honesty and emotion that I knew was a true gift to receive.

I freed my hands and hugged Fang, knowing full well that he was not a huggy person but understanding that I needed to display my gratitude somehow.

"Thanks, Fang," I said into his black dress jacket.

I felt his hands slowly reach around my back then squeeze with a comforting strength. "Anything, Max."

We stayed there a few moments, and then I blurted out, "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean it when I said that a pig's ass was sexier than you…well, not completely."

Fang quickly held me out at arm's length, his eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

I raised my eyebrow in retaliation.

Then he laughed and gave me a rare, Earth-shattering smile that made my world a little brighter, and I couldn't help but smile and laugh with him.

I don't do formal…but maybe – _just _maybe – it won't be the ruin of me.

* * *

><p><strong>Well…my first one-shot.<strong>

**Not bad. Not bad at all.**

**This one-shot is dedicated to **_**El Jefe**_** by Mexican Institute of Sound; "el jefe" is Spanish for "the boss", "the head", or "the chief".**

**(For those of you new to my song dedications, the song really has no relation to the chapter but is just the random music I wrote it too.)**

**If you want to make me smile, R&R?**


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